


Wasted Time

by Robin_Purdy



Category: Elementary (TV), Monk - Fandom, Psych, Psyelemonk
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Mystery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-12
Updated: 2013-03-12
Packaged: 2017-12-05 02:57:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/718079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robin_Purdy/pseuds/Robin_Purdy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A crossover of my favourite crime/mystery/drama American TV shows! Will mostly revolve around Psych, Elementary, and Monk, but more shows will be added as the story goes on. The three best detectives in America and their assistants team up to try and track down the most bloodthirsty, scary, unhuman serial killer they've ever seen. Are they ready for the challenge?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wasted Time

  _A girl screamed. No one heard. That’s not what stopped her._  


_Death did._

 _________________________________________________________________

  
Joan slouched into the kitchen, bleary-eyed with tousled hair that made her look similar to a swamp monster.  
“Good morning,” Sherlock said cheerily from the table, lifting his coffee mug up to her in acknowledgement.  
“How long have you been up?” she groaned, pouring herself a cupful of brown, liquid caffeine. Joan disliked being in a conversation before her morning coffee, mainly because her brain worked at the pace of a snail in peanut butter, and discussions with Sherlock were even worse. But she knew that he would probably talk to her whether she participated or not, and she decided that she better use her own voice before he started making one up for her.  
“Never went to sleep,” he yawned, not from tiredness, but from boredom. “Did you realize that there hasn’t been a good murder case for a month?”  
“Isn’t that a good thing, no unsolvable murders?” Joan asked, sitting down beside him. “And don’t try to change the subject. Why didn’t you go to bed last night?”  
“I did go to bed,” Sherlock contradicted her.  
“But you said-”  
“-I said that I had not gone to _sleep_. There is a difference.”  
Joan hadn’t been awake long enough to give him a good eye roll.  
“I just couldn’t fall asleep. Adrenaline, I’d say.”  
“I thought that you weren’t on a case.”  
“I’m not.”  
Joan stared at him blankly, and finally made up her mind that it was easier not to ask. Sherlock’s phone broke Sherlock’s comfortable and Joan’s confused silence. “Gregson’s texted me.” Sherlock picked up the mobile and greedily read the text. “There’s been a murder...About time.”  
Joan sipped her coffee, trying to refrain herself from replying.  
“He’s says he wants me down at the station as soon as possible,” Sherlock continued reading. “Well, what are you waiting for?” Sherlock jumped from the table. “You need to get some decent clothes on, Watson, I highly doubt you’d like to go to the crime scene in those clothes.”  
“I’m not going, Sherlock. I have enough things to do here at the moment.”  
Sherlock stared, shocked, at her. “What on earth do you mean?”  
Joan stood up from the table too. “ I _mean_ that this house is a mess. You can go on to the station, but I won’t be leaving this place until it’s been cleaned to my satisfaction.”  
Sherlock wrinkled his nose. “Clean?”  
“Yes, clean. I’ll be with you in a little while.”  
Sherlock’s mouth warped into a small, thin, frown. “Fine. Text me when you’re done.”  
“Will do,” Joan answered, but Sherlock didn’t hear; he was already out the door.  


_______________________________________________________________

  
“A homeless man found her about an hour ago,” Marcus Bell explained to Sherlock as the detective looked over the limp body of a young woman. Early thirties, journalist, and was having an affair; these were the first things Sherlock picked up.  
“Cause of death?”  
“There’s a puncture wound in the back of her head, made by a spike or something.”  
Sherlock leaned down to study the wound. It wasn’t like any kind of injury he had ever seen. “A spike?”  
“Yeah,” Bell said, trying to look over Sherlock’s shoulder at the body. “That’s what we guess did it. We’ll be more sure after we get the coroner’s report.”  
“What you guess,” Sherlock stated delicately. “Is completely, utterly, wrong. Thank god it is a guess and not your final conclusion.”  
“Excuse me?”  
“No spike could do this,” Sherlock said, lifting himself back up and circling the body once more.  
Bell bit his lip, doing his best to hide his annoyance. “How do you know?”  
“Where’s the blood? If a spike, or any kind of sharp instrument for that matter, would have left a great big pool of blood. We’re looking for a weapon that probably hasn’t even been introduced to the public. Like some sort of knife-straw.”  
“Knife-straw?” Joan asked from behind them.  
“Ah, Joan, good of you to join us. You forgot to text.” Sherlock smiled. “And yes, a knife-straw...thing. That’s the murder weapon.”  
“Says who?” Bell interjected.  
“Says me,” Sherlock replied. “Question is, who has one? And how did they make it?”  
“And why would they use it,” Joan added, looking sadly at the woman’s corpse.  
“That too,” Sherlock agreed.  
He was really enjoying himself.  


_______________________________________________________________

  
“Did you know,” Shawn asked as he came into the Psych office, carrying a plastic bag of Chinese take-out. “That Orange Chicken is probably the most unimaginative food name ever?”  
“So?” Gus scoffed, looking into the bag for his order.  
"So, that's a really boring name," Shawn answered. "The least they could have done was name it Amber Chicken or Gamboge Chicken."  
“What would you name it, then?” Gus challenged.  
“Felipe,” Shawn said with dramatic rolls of his eyebrows. “Although I do like Gamboge Chicken. Gamboge is a very fun word to say; Gamboge, Gamboge, Gam-”  
“Shawn!” Gus interrupted, annoyed. “Besides, Felipe is possibly the most _stupid_ name for food ever.”  
“Come on, Gus,” Shawn whined. “Don’t be the one pizza place that doesn’t serve enchiladas.”  
“No pizza places serves enchiladas.”  
“True, but I wish they did.”  
“Any news from Lassiter yet?” Gus asked, taking a bite of his Chow Mein.  
Shawn kicked back in his chair and placed his feet on the desk. “No. Not that Lassy would ever purposely tell us information on the case. And we don’t need it anyway.”  
“What? Why?”  
Shawn slapped a case file onto his desk. “We have a new case. Chief Vic assigned it to us personally.”  
“But we can’t just abandon the other case,” Gus complained.  
“Of course we can,” Shawn answered through a mouthful of noodles. “It was boring anyway. I mean, come on, a jewelry store robbery? Lassy and Jules could solve that case in their sleep. They don’t need-” Shawn lifted his hand to his head, showing off his favourite pose. “-a _psychic_.”  
“Fine, whatever.” Gus picked at his food. He enjoyed murder cases, but it was a little disheartening to hear that there had been another homicide.  
“So get this,” Shawn continued, thumbing through the file with sticky fingers. “The victim was torn into shreds...and her heart was missing when the police got to her.”  
Gus suddenly didn’t feel hungry any more.  
“They said it could have been a wolf attack. But, problem is, there are no wolves in the area. At least we hope there aren’t any man-eating wolves in downtown Santa Barbara.”  
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Gus asked, seeing the sly smile sliding onto Shawn’s face.  
“Werewolves,” the both said dramatically, then did an air fist-bump and a miniature dance in their seats.  
They were probably wrong, but one could never know...  


_______________________________________________________________

  
“Is he done yet?”  
“Shh!”  
“What’s he doing with-?”  
“Be quiet, will you?” Natalie haughtily hushed the guard as they both watched Adrian Monk do what he did best: _observing_.  
Except, right now, he was trying to rearrange the messy bouquet on a stand in the foyer of the _Lafayette Hotel_. He was taking all of the yellow flowers out and laying them on the stand, side by side. Once he was through with this, he looked up at the guard. “Do you have any scissors?”  
Natalie rolled her eyes and pulled the detective from the flowers. “Mr. Monk, you can rearrange the flowers later. We need you to tell us how the thief was able to escape so quickly!”  
“The air vents.”  
“What?” the guard asked.  
“He went through the air vents.” Monk clarified.  
“How do you-?”  
“One of the screws is loosened. This is a refined hotel and wouldn’t slip up on something like that. I know; I spent a week here and only had to buy one bag of cleaning supplies. Now, please, I have to do something of great importance...” He shuffled back to the flowers. “Where are some scissors I could borrow?”  
The guard gaped at him. “But sir-”  
“You heard Mr. Monk, he left through the air vents. Now, could you please get some scissors? He has to do something with them, and please don’t ask me what.” Once the guard left to get some scissors, Natalie turned to Monk, a brilliant smile plastered on her face. “That was great, Mr. Monk! You solved that in only about, what? A minute?”  
“One minute and four seconds, exactly.”  
Natalie stared at Monk, marveling in his intellect. Monk continued to arrange the flowers.  
Natalie’s phone beeped, and she saw Lieutenant Disher’s name. “Could you excuse me for a sec, Mr. Monk? Randy’s calling me.” Monk was too fixated on the flowers to hear her. She gave an exasperated sigh and answered the call.  
“Ms. Teeger?”  
“Yeah, Randy?”  
“There’s been a death. We’d like it a lot if you and Monk came and-”  
“Yeah, yeah, of course! We’ll be right over once he’s done arranging this bouquet.”  
“What? Wait, never mind...I don’t really want to know.”  
Natalie was relieved she didn’t have to explain.  
“Mr. Monk, we need to go,” she said, pulling Monk away from the flowers. “We’ve got a murder scene to inspect!”  


_______________________________________________________________

  
“Hey Monk,” Captain Stottlemeyer greeted the detective and assistant. “Nice of you to come so soon. Although, I’m not really sure even you can figure this one out. The place is clean-not spotless, but clean. We can’t find anything. And the victim-well, you’ll see her in a second.”  
Stottlemeyer led them through the house and into the victim’s kitchen, where the body lay, tangled in a gigantic spider web. Monk, naturally, freaked out.  
“ _What is_ that _?_ ” he screeched from the table, which he had climbed onto in three seconds flat.  
“Mr. Monk,” Natalie said, trying to calm him down. “It’s ok...It’s just a web, there aren’t any spiders around here. Isn’t that right, Captain Stottlemeyer?”  
“Uh, yeah...No spiders at all,” Stottlemeyer grunted.  
“You’re lying,” Monk accused, slightly breathless from the screeching and table-climbing.  
“Yes, yes we are,” Stottlemeyer admitted. “But you can’t solve the case from up there.”  
“Of course I can,” Monk said shakily. He lifted his hands and pretended to observe the room.  
“Come on Mr. Monk, don’t be silly.” Natalie forcibly pulled him down from the table.  
“ _Ahh!_ ” he squealed.  
“The spiders won’t eat you, Mr. Monk,” Natalie reasoned. “If they were to eat anybody, it would be the Captain, now wouldn’t it? He’s the biggest one in the room.”  
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Stottlemeyer mumbled to Randy.  
“But I’m bigger than her.” Monk pointed to the woman in the web.  
“No you aren’t! No...she just looks smaller than you because she...because she had all of the blood sucked out of her.”  
This was the wrong thing to say.  
Monk ran, screaming, from the building and into Natalie’s car, immediately locking the door. **  
**Stottlemeyer glared at the blushing Natalie. “The only person in the state that could solve the case, and he’s too scared to look at the body...”


End file.
